Mr. Vaadi provided these comments in the Spring Concert program.​Thank you to everyone for attending tonight’s concert. It has been a pleasure sharing music with you all over these last four and a half years. St. Pete High will always hold a special place in my heart and I look forward to seeing the progress and growth this program will make over the coming years.​I would also like to thank the current administration--Darlene Lebo, Ryan Halstead, Susan Farias, Lincoln Yates, and Jennifer Vragovic--for creating a school atmosphere that feels like an extended family and for advocating for our kids.

Last but not least—to my students. Thank you for teaching me so many life lessons and for the musical moments we shared. I will miss you all so dearly and I know you’ll all go on to do great things. Stay in touch!

Mr. Vaadi made these comments at the Band Banquet in May.

You know — I always hate giving speeches at these things. I become this nervous wreck and I always tend to speak too quickly or not enough. What if I leave someone out? Am I making enough eye contact or am I doing the typical "Vaadi stare-down"? Should I throw in an amusing anecdote or should I try to take a serious tone? I always think to myself — "well if I don't do so well on the speech this year, I can always try again next year." Well, there isn't a next year for me. This is it. Better not screw it up, right?

And I think that's a great life lesson all by itself. There isn't always going to be a second chance so you better make this one count. I always say in band — you have to perform every rep like it's the one that counts. That's how you get better. Act like you've been there before. Work on the details — the little things — and the big things will take care of themselves.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Being in marching band has little to do with music. Sure, music is the driving force of this activity. But I don't see it as the thing that makes marching band, or concert band so special. You see, for me, band is so much more than notes on a page or being 8 steps outside the left 45 and 12 steps in front of the home hash. Those are just meaningless instructions.

Being in band is about sacrifice. It's about selfless acts of service and love. No, I'm not talking about love like you would see in a Twilight movie or read in a Nicholas Sparks novel. I'm talking about the love of what you do. Passion drives life. Why do something if you're not passionate about it? That's a very dull way to "live". You see, being in this activity is one of the most selfless acts of teamwork you can do. Unlike in certain sports, if you're not doing so well, what does your coach do? Probably put you on the bench and bring up the next player. Well, that doesn't exist here. If you're not doing so great — well then you better get into the practice room and figure it out because people depend on you.

This activity humbles you — greatly. There's nothing quite like the ego blow of being able to play your music sitting down or standing still and then having myself or Uncle Matt say "ok, well now I want you to play and march the entire opener that you've only had for a week." Or how about that first show? Where everything seems so great at rehearsals and then you have to stand there agonizing as they just called the 4th place band but haven't said "St. Pete High" yet. It hurts. You take it personally. You work just as hard in temperatures just as hot with situations that are outside of your control but you're still lesser than someone else. Maybe you had your best ever show. Where's the recognition? Have a slice of humble pie and get back to work. I promise you -- you are all better people because of it.

You're certainly the kind of people I would want others to be around. You've all impacted me so nearly and dearly and I thank you for that. At an awards banquet in spring 2015, I got on the podium and told the class of 2015 that they were manure. You see, their director when they were freshmen used this metaphor saying that the freshman were dirt, the sophomores were seeds, the juniors were water, and the seniors were flowers. It was a way to illustrate to them the progression of their personalities and contributions to the band program. I told them they were manure — the fertilizer that nourishes the seed so it could grow into something beautiful and strong. The seeds were, of course the freshman for that year — the class of 2018.

Like many times since then, I was wrong. You are neither dirt, seeds, water, flowers, nor the ever-so-special manure. You are all cherished memories. You are the pictures on my refrigerator, the snapshots in my photo albums, the cherished after football game or competition talks in the band room, the nonverbal conversations we have with just a moment of eye contact, the headaches and drama. You are the endless amounts of blue passes, the locked pinkies before performances, the "one more times", the gush and go's. You are the "Ugh Vaadi's late at 6:41 am" on Monday mornings, the "my office isn't a clubhouse", the countless 4b, 3a 3b, 2c, d, and e's, the "hey band!" The awkward looks I give you when you "play" the Alma Mater at the end of the game it's in Eb, not Bb. The one hit challenges, the "no we don't need tarps" (cue rain), the "these burgers are unacceptable!"

You are the broken wheels on Jarvis, the rats in the band room, the drum room "odor", the "tubas, right now you're the worst section in the band", the nriedos forgetting to fill the water jugs, the props that aren't put together yet, the throwing of grapes from across a parking lot, getting to competitions quickly to only have to sit there and wait in the sun until we perform, the moving with a purpose, and the phrase "try has the intent to fail". You are the "dad? Dad? Dad?"

You are the boys and girls. And I am so proud to have been your director. Thank you for impacting my life in ways that still amaze me. I sincerely hope you stay in touch. If you're ever in Gainesville please —let's go to Satchel's pizza. You can pick up the check. be a poor college kid again.